highest I had yet seen, ingulfed the boat, and, bounding forward with resistless fury, burst through the casement, dashing the spray over us. I would have rushed from the room, but the philosopher detained me forcibly, proving that I ought not to be terrified, and insisting on my listening to the chain of his calculation, which he assured me would easily convince any reasonable creature. But I, alas! was no longer reasonable. I struggled with him, and would have shrieked for help, but voice was denied me. At this moment another tremendous wave washed over the philosopher's head, and floated in the body of a man to my feet. I looked closely at the dead man's face: the horrid truth flashed on my mind-the water rose above my mouth;-wildly, desperately I dashed about, and awoke.

VISION III.

I dreamed that I went to a Jewish synagogue. While attentively observing the high priest, he made a sign to me that I should follow him. By an infatuation which impelled me to do what was repugnant to my feelings, I left the synagogue at the same time the priest did, and followed him through many strange obscure ways to his dwelling, which was in a part of the town I was unacquainted with. The apartment we went into was spacious and painted over with strange characters and uncouth images. The ceiling was supported by cherubim, with the faces of lions, oxen, and men; from their mouths were suspended garlands, or festoons, formed of pomegranates and damask roses. As I gazed in admiration of this strange scene, I fancied that the cherubim shook their wings, which wafted to me the delicious odour of the fruits and flowers. The priest took my hand with great ceremony, and led me to a table in the centre of the room, which was covered with a white cloth divided into five compartments by a crimson-coloured substance woven into it. Five men in white clothing, with crimson mitres, and girdles to which were hung gongs and rams' horns, ranged themselves round the table on which four of them placed dishes of meat I was unacquainted with. The fifth put in the midst an entire lamb, with five marks on its back, like drops of blood. Curious antique goblets, of co

loured glass set in precious metal, adorned the table. The dishes and plates were composed of solid gold in the form of fig-leaves. Lights were suspended from the ceiling in transparent globes of a red colour, which shed a lurid ominous glare on the surrounding objects. Though somewhat intimidated, I felt such an earnest desire to propose certain questions relative to the ancient and modern Jews, that I determined to speak to the high priest who had for some time been engaged in an act of devotion which gave me time to make observations. I particularly examined his countenance, his low-set eyebrows shaded without obscuring his dark, glittering, restless eyes—his ample white beard could not conceal from me the stern expression of his mouth; but his general appearance was venerable and interesting. On his head he wore a mitre, on the summit of which shone a crescent moon, composed of a single gem, and in its front was emblazoned a star or sun, the radii of which waved and flickered as the light glanced on it: so exceedingly great was its brightness, that it might not be looked at more than a moment. His tunic was crimson, thickly embroidered with planetary signs; his breast-plate was studded with precious stones, so disposed as to form, in Hebrew characters, the names of Baal, Moloch, and Ashtaroth. With the rapid glances of thought I saw all I am long in describing. "Damsel of beauty," said the priest, "eat what is before thee.' "Sir," 1 replied, "there is no salt ;" and as I said so, a terrible suspicion of intended treachery darted into my mind. His countenance seemed to darken while he

said more imperatively, "Eat what is before thee." I thought it most prudent to comply, and endeavoured to conceal my increasing uneasiness. As there were neither knives, forks, or spoons on the table, I began to help myself with my fingers from the dish nearest to me; the priest pointed angrily to a crystal vase filled with water and indistinctly muttered "Nazarine!" Confused and blushing at what I perceived was considered a breach of decorum, I hastily bathed my hands in the perfumed sparkling water, and then ventured to inquire if that, meaning the centre dish, was the paschal lamb, and what the blood dropped on it was intended to represent; for all

these things are, I suppose, but types and shadows of something more important.

"Refrain from matters that are too high for thee, and search not into mysteries that are not within the grasp of the uninitiated," replied the priest.

Abashed, but not angry, I remained quiet, fearing to commit myself by some forbidden topic. However, the thirst for information still burned within me, though for the present restrained by prudence.

"Maiden," said the priest, "inform me of thy lineage. Is it noble?"

A multitude of thoughts poured through my mind; pride was the strongest, and I boldly replied in the affirmative.

He appeared greatly satisfied while he said, in a low tone," All is well-all assorts; thou art worthy to wear the bridal chaplet," at the same time placing one on my head, composed of red and white flowers, and sprinkling it with a liquid from a vessel I had not before seen, of a hideous shape and blood-red colour. Though the drops of liquid fell hot on my head, and the chaplet compressed it painfully, I felt a certain degree of awe, which prevented me from complaining. Endeavouring, however, to shake it off, I inquired whether it was true that at the captivity the genealogies of the ten tribes were lost.

"Lost! beware what thou sayest. Mine has been preserved untainted; my father was of the tribe of Levi, privately espoused to a Canaanitish princess. I was early carried into Babylon at the captivity. By my mother I was trained into all the wisdom of the Chaldean sages. I know all the science veiled in hieroglyphics. The powers of nature and the wonders of magic are not hidden from me. I possess the elixir of immortality, and in my father's right I am high priest, till time shall be no more, of all the descendants of Abraham."

Full of awe and veneration, I replied, "O mighty sage! you have doubtless read carefully the prophetical writings of your people. How, then, can you resist their evidence? Are not their predictions at this moment fulfilled in your unhappy race? Are they not an astonishment, a hissing, and a byword? Are they not wanderers and fugitives on

the earth? By what blindness-by what infatuation," I continued, losing all fear and prudence in the enthusiasm of the moment"-by what infatuation do you shut your eyes on the day-star that has arisen, reject the Redeemer of the human race, and deny the divinity of Christ?"

No sooner had these fatal words escaped my lips than the gongs sounded and the trumpets blew with a fearful noise. The high priest's countenance worked as if under demoniacal influence. The floor sunk with us into a cavern dark and deep, illuminated only with a red glare, reflected from an iron image of gigantic dimensions, which was entirely ignited and glowing. Two mitred priests placed me between them, and forced me toward the image, the high priest preceding us, chanting these words: "Receive, O Moloch! God of my mother, receive a bride worthy of thy greatness." Every step we took my agony and horror became more intense. By some infernal agency, the image held out its arms and rolled its eyes as I advanced. An assembly I had not seen before joined the chorus, "Receive, receive thy bride." Suddenly I escaped from those who held me, and clung in frantic despair to the high priest, imploring him with shrieks and prayers to save me, but imploring him in vain. "See! the god demands thee; he solicits thee to his embraces." On, on they impelled me, till I felt the hot glow cast from the image, till his dreadful hand of fire was on my head. No more could be endured. I awoke-not in the arms of Moloch, but to the reality of burning fever and excruciating pain in my head.

VISION IV.

I thought I awoke and found myself reclining on a divan, spread with embroidered cushions, in a magnificent apartment. A soft emotion of surprise and pleasure filled my heart, as the breeze wafted over me the perfume of flowers. As this subsided, I surveyed with attention the objects that surrounded me. The room was nearly circular, supported by fluted Grecian pillars, round which twined, and again drooped from their summits, bright beautiful flowers. It was enclosed by walls formed of alternate mirrors and lattice-work, formed of a green, transparent, shining substance, enwreathed with the delicate buds, leaves,

and blossoms of early vegetation. In the centre of the room was a bath of pure marble, filled with water, which, being raised to a great height by a fountain, fell back in light, sparkling showers upon the pretty fishes that sported beneath. Seeing nothing living but these mute creatures and the gaudy butterflies, a feeling of desolation came over me, and I began to weep as I looked upon this glorious scene, which, when I thought how it soon must fade away, brought images of death and desolation into my heart, and I said aloud, "O palace of beauty, gardens of fragrance, you will pass away, but my term of life is still more brief!" I arose, and looking through the lattice, saw a garden which, in my view of it, appeared like a wide valley, to which I saw no termination but a dark stream, obscured by the willows which drooped into it. The sloping hills which formed this lonely vale were covered to their summits with a wild profusion of trees and shrubs, that were many of them unknown to me; the valley was carpeted with flowers, among which my favourite hyacinth prevailed. Seeing near me a cluster of pink hyacinths, I tried to quit the palace, that I might admire them and rove in that fair garden, when I found that I was a prisoner, and could by no means open the lattice. Alarmed and discontented, I wandered through my splendid prison, but coming opposite to a large mirror, it quite fixed my attention. It reflected back in more than mortal beauty the image of one who had long been numbered with the dead. Fearful that it might vanish away, I therefore took up painting materials that were at hand, and felt quite surprised at the facility and quickness with which I soon completed the likeness of the image I saw reflected from the mirror, which, casting on ine a mournful glance, could no more be seen. However, I regarded not its disappearance, as I had my picture, which occupied all my thoughts. I gazed on it till large tears fell upon it from my eyes. I prayed of it to speak to me only one word; I knelt to it, I implored with my face to the earth, when I heard a voice say, "Impious idolatress! profaner of the law of God and of his vicegerent Mahomet, thy doom is fixed-death awaits thee-thou art given as a prey to the mighty crocodile, who is lord of this domain.".

While shuddering at these dreadful words, my attention was attracted by a slight splashing noise to the bath, from an aperture of which I saw a black head forcing its way. I knew at once that this sharp head, with its upper and lower ranges of terrible teeth, could belong only to a crocodile. Wishing to fly, but obliged to look on, I saw the monster gradually emerge, first his shoulders, then his fore-feet; then I heard, with a heart that beat quicker at every movement, his scales grating against the marble; and at length his whole enormous length was drawn through. All the stories I had read of fascination came into my mind, and made me endeavour to avoid the monster's eye. I turned-I ran-I tried every part-but there was no escape. I dashed my hands through the mirrors till they streamed with blood-but I heard behind me my enemy.

VISION V.

"Dear Mrs. Owen, last Sunday you said something that I have been thinking of all the week."

"Dear me, what might that be?" "Why it was something as if-as if you had once seen a ghost."

"I don't think your good father likes talk of such things, and on the blessed sabbath we should turn our minds to thoughts of Christ and things divine.'”

"Now, my dear, nice, good old woman, you know papa is asleep, and you know I never see you on any other day, and there can be nothing worldly in talking of spirits; and I had rather hear you talk all day, than hear Dr. Drydum preach an hour."

"Oh! Miss Emme, dear, you must not liken such as me to our worthy pas tor; though at times it may be the Lord's pleasure to work even by such a poor feeble worm, and enable me to speak a word in due season. Well, you have such pretty ways with you, that I can't hold out no longer, but I will e'en tell you what a fearful vision betided me, though I doubt you will be 'mazed at it, for it makes my old flesh creep only to think on it.

"Let me see, what a many, many years are gone by since I was a young, thoughtless thing, that knew not God, and had no concern for my perishing soul; but thanks to his mercy, I have been at length brought through the deep

waves of affliction to know and put my trust in Him, who is mighty to seek and to save. Now I can see that all has been for the best-now I can say with all my heart

Father, I thank thy gentle hand;

How kind was thy chastising rod, That forced my conscience to a stand,

And brought my wandering soul to God! The worthy creature, who would doubtless have finished the hymn had she not seen marks of impatience in my countenance, proceeded:

"Well, Miss, as I was a going to tell you, when I was a young light-hearted lass I left a good place to marry a fisherlad as careless and prayerless as myself. We lived in a little cottage on the sea-coast, a pretty way from any other, and at times got our bread hard enough; but we loved one another, and love makes all burdens light. Then came a babby as fair a creature as ever the sun shone upon; and I, poor sinful being, instead of praying over and devoting it to God, made an idol of it; and sung more, and laughed louder, and thought myself happier than ever. Oh, the dif

ference between a state of nature and a state of grace!

Now I am brought to know the danger I was in,

By nature and by practice too, a wretched slave to sin.

So summer passed over, and little Charlie grew bravely, and as I had him to play with and talk to, I did not so much mind the unked lonely nights when my husband was with his comrades fishing, and I left alone. But-I would almost rather not go on; for now, though all these years are past and gone it makes my heart shiver, and brings a sort of sickishness over me to think what came upon me at unawares, and maybe after all you may not believe it and yet it is-it is true-my own eyes saw what I am going to tell you. My husband had been out a night and a day, and I looked for him every minute, but time wore on and it got later and later; so when I had made up a good fire I was minded to put little Charlie to bed, and there

The

he lay in his sweet sleep while all was so still, I could hear his gentle breathings while I stood watching for his father at the window, and between whiles singing bits of songs. moon was quite full and bright, and I saw the sea quite plain, and the little waves which rippled on the shore. Well, while I stood straining my eyes to find the boat I saw a man come as it were from the sea with a steady pace looking neither to right nor left; I thought it strange that I could see no boat nor none of Charles's companions (for I never misdoubted it was he), and my heart began to beat quick; but it instead of turning to the left to take the knocked still louder at my side, when little bridge that crossed over a deep, narrow stream, I saw him come straight across it I know not how-it was a fearsome moment! but I could not take my eyes from him, and I saw in the moonlight that his clothes were wet and and nearer, and at last I heard him open his face was wan. On he came, nearer the latch, and I heard his heavy footsteps slowly, one by one, on the stairs; and-and I know not how I lived to tell what I felt when he opened the chamber door, I would have fled, I would have hid my eyes-but I could not, they seemed forced open, and bursting from their sockets-and oh! Miss Emme, he did he did come in and stand before me with the moon shining on his pale sorrowful countenance and ghastful eyes. I tried to speak, but my tongue clave to my mouth and I could not utter a word-he turned from me with a hollow groan, cast a sad, sad look on our child, and I saw him no more—no, I never saw him more, the wave had gone over him. My poor head was quite gone! I snatched my babe from his cradle and wildly tore away I knew not whither, but I was found and cared for through a raging fever which took me; for many days I knew nothing, and when I came to myself, every earthly tie was torn away; for my sweet precious babe was dead, and had left his poor widowed mother a lone pilgrim and wayfarer upon the earth.

Is one of those iron-headed, heartless sons of vanity, who sit in mock judgment on every body else's writing, and think none tolerable but their own. According to his account, the author of this pamphlet knows nothing of his subject; the author of that has forgotten his grammar; the scribbler of the other, has only stolen the ideas of his betters, and given them as his own. The Quarterly is heavy and obstinate-Blackwood dull-The New Monthly worse than ever-Fraser's all froth and fustianThe Lady's pert―The Gentleman's silly and slovenly Whittaker's cold and croaking, like a dying frog-and La Belle merely gilt and gingerbread. In short, nothing can be good but what Mr. Busy-body has himself written, except, but of exceptions hereafter.

He begins his career as a collector of scraps for newspapers, sneaks into the good graces of one or two decent people by writing civil things about them, and when he discovers that trading in that way upon a small scale answers his purpose, he tries its effects upon a more enlarged plan.

He is always a kind of cad, or barker, to one or two of the booksellers. He wields his pen about as handily as a bear does a plum-cake, and in his office of jackal to the lions of literature, picks up the food upon which his patrons thrive, without possessing brains enough to lay up for himself.

Accident perhaps, in the first instance, puts him over the reviewing department, in some periodical, and whether he write well or ill, he can serve an author by quoting the best passages-which the author marks for him on such occasions -in his book; and as easily injure another by taking no notice, but what is contained in a few condemnatory words. He rarely troubles himself about more than a paragraph, either to introduce his extracts or to damn a work.

If he have a review or newspaper entirely under his control, he becomes a powerful advocate or a very mischievous antagonist. The public are so fond of being led by the nose in literary and theatrical-and indeed in all other

matters, that the mass have not sufficient confidence to trust their own judgment against that of a periodical paper; and a very heavy-pated, ignorant Literary Busy-body could, without difficulty, persuade them that a book which they had read with great interest, or a play which they had seen with unalloyed delight, were trash from beginning to end; for they look upon every thing recorded in print as perfectly orthodox, and are ashamed even to admit that they have an opinion of their own.

The Literary Busy-body is consequently courted by authors of all grades, from the jingling rhymster and youthful essayist or tale-teller, who had just left school, to the established author and the distinguished poet, who have had their thousands for maturer works; he is sought by actors of all denominations, from the murderers of kings who perform first-rate characters at the great theatres, to the murderers of the king's English who play fifteenth-rate business at the minors; and he is pampered by managers, exhibition owners, painters, conjurors, and quacks.

The Literary Busy-body is nevertheless a little at the mercy of the two or three houses who have brought him into notice: the books which these publish, and in which they have a personal interest, he must puff; those belonging to the rest of the trade he must not puff, unless they be unimportant; and works of consequence put forth by houses opposed to his patrons, who, by the way, it ought to be observed, are generally his partners, he conscientiously condemns. The only chance, therefore, that an author has of succeeding, is to ask the Busy-body's advice before publishing. The Busy-body then recommends them to apply to (what he calls) first-rate houses as publishers (of course his own partners); the authors are glad of the recommendation of one who is so good a judge, and when their books appear the happy scribblers scarcely know whether they stand upon their heads or their heels, so intoxicated are they with the kind notice which Mr. Busy-body honestly takes of their works. Thus the